


Stardom

by Pyrrhicy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Boss/Employee Relationship, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Gangbang, M/M, Mentioned: - Freeform, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Porn Star Stiles Stilinski, Porn Watching, Rich Peter Hale, Secretary Stiles Stilinski, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 15:16:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16518959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyrrhicy/pseuds/Pyrrhicy
Summary: Stiles was a porn star. Now he's Mr. Peter Hale's personal assistant.





	Stardom

**Author's Note:**

> Probably full of mistakes but whatever

“You can go home, Stiles,” Peter told his secretary, picking up the neatly organized forms that had been laid out for him to sign tonight. A typical night for Peter involved staying much later than most of his employees, even including his most dedicated secretary, who had just returned from his nightly excursion to purchase Peter’s dinner.

Stiles gave him a surprised look - really, he should let the boy out early more often if it was that uncharacteristic. Stiles worked hard and tirelessly, and he by far the best secretary Peter had ever employed. “Are you sure, sir?” he’d asked worriedly, biting his lip as he glanced down at the file in Peter’s hand. “You’ve got another few hours left of paperwork - I’d be more than happy to help you work through it, Mr. Hale.”

Stiles Stilinski had applied to work at Hale Enterprises almost two years prior, originally gunning for a coveted seat in the company’s tech department. His resume had been fairly impressive for someone so fresh out of college - he’d only been twenty-two at the time, but he’d worked full-time jobs and did freelance work on programming all through his studying years, leaving him with a plethora of good references and experience. At first, it seemed that his youth had been the only set-back to an otherwise stellar application, and he’d made it far it to the final few candidates.

Now, Peter Hale was the Chief Legal Head of his family’s empire; he was a very busy man. He was almost never involved in the hiring process unless it directly involved his department - that was the job of his niece, Cora. Who, every now and then as she had two years ago, sought him out for his unique brand of advice just as she had two years ago upon discovering that their newest applicant had gone by the name of Mike Style during his college days.

They had a brief conference in which Cora asked him his opinion on the matter. It had ended when Peter was shown a photo of the man in question and quickly suggested that Stiles Stilinski be hired, not for tech where other employees would quickly snoop out his past, but rather as Peter’s personal assistant.

Which had all led to this.

“Not necessary, Stiles,” Peter told the young man, smiling gently at him. He had made the right call that night, offering to let Stiles get his first foothold in the company as Peter’s secretary where there would be much less interaction with other employees and Stiles’ computer skills could be used to optimize Peter’s scheduling and organization. Stiles was the best secretary Peter had ever had, and he knew that the young man was just as happy with his job as Peter was happy to have him in it. “It’s not much earlier than you would normally leave and besides, I’ll just be doing paperwork for the rest of the night.”

Stiles shrugged but nodded. “Make sure you remember to eat, sir,” he said pleasantly as he walked around his desk to grab his messenger bag. “It’s from that new Vietnamese place - I got it for lunch last week while you were in Seattle and it was divine.”

“You’ve always had excellent taste, Stiles,” Peter said, eyeing the containers eagerly even though he knew that he had to at least start on his work before he wound up in a food coma. “Do you think you’ll have time tonight to work on your at-home assignment, Mr. Stilinski?” he asked absently after a moment.

Behind him, he heard Stiles’ breath hitch, but he gave no outward sign of acknowledgment as he rounded his desk and sat down, placing the file in front of him. When he looked up, one eyebrow raised at his secretary, he saw that Stiles’ cheeks were flushed very slightly pink. “Of course, Mr. Hale,” Stiles said after a moment, just a little breathy.

Peter nodded in contentment. “Good, good,” he assured, leaning over his work. “Good night, Mr. Stilinski.”

A pause. Then, “Good night, sir,” softly, just before the doors to his office closed.

Peter smiled to himself but only allowed a moment of his self-indulgence

***

Almost four hours later, Peter stepped out of one of the many luxury cars that Hale Enterprises always kept on hand, eyes following up the towering height of his apartment building. His shoulders relaxed a little just from seeing the outside and he was relieved at the reminder that he was coming home, that there would be no more work business here.

He strode into the lobby, nodding a brief hello to the doorman and the receptionist before he boarded the elevator. Instead of pressing a button, he pulled out his wallet and flashed a card in front of a small, concealed sensor which flashed green in response. Quickly, the elevator began to rise to the penthouse levels.

Peter’s home was gorgeous, bordered with more windows than walls and featuring more luxury items than would ever be necessary to someone who grew up in a forest, sharing a house with two dozen family members as he had. Peter preferred the city to that for sure, was so very pleased that his hard-earned position within the family’s company allowed him to pay for a place as incredible as his home.

Even still, tonight was not a night for indulging in the wool carpeting or the sunken living room with the most expensive entertainment setup available. It wasn't even the time to wonder at the phenomenal view of the city skyline out of his full-wall windows.

Peter, loosening his tie slightly but not yet removing it for effect, made his way to his bedroom.

This room, all luxurious shag carpers and wood-tones, was currently awash in the synthetic light of the TV, playing a scene Peter didn’t both to gander at yet.

The show on his bed was much more enrapturing and Peter made his way to it swiftly.

Stiles looked practically ethereal. His skin was glistening with sweat, which only furthered the gorgeous effect that the colored lights of the film had as they fell on him, sparkling and rainbow. His usually messy hair was tangled and matted, his plump lips practically swollen from how much he’d probably been biting them. It was obvious that he was naked even though everything below his waist was still covered by the sheets that had gotten tangled up between his legs from thrashing at some point.

He was beautiful.

Peter’s fingers stroked over the flushed skin of his cheek and he bent down to lay a soft kiss just above Stiles’ eye. This gentle gesture was met perfectly with an absolutely pornographic moan that drowned out even the actual pornography still playing on the screen behind him. Peter’s smile morphed into a smirk as Stiles blinked frantically, body shaking with pleasure and overstimulation. He whined, high in his throat, absolutely desperate, when Peter slowly pulled away, fingers falling away from warm skin.

“You’re perfect,” he told the younger man simply, stepping back to stand at his full height. Stiles moaned in sync with his videotaped counterpart, and Peter glanced over his shoulder to check which film Stiles had put on. He grinned to himself when he saw his boyfriend - a few years younger, a little thinner in an unhealthy sort of way - be yanked backward and away from the camera by the strength of some stranger’s grip in his hair. It was a personal favorite of Peter’s, and he’d seen them all by now. “A gang bang,” he commented quietly, moving around the bed fluidly and sitting down with his back against the headboard. Stiles flopped onto his side so that he could watch Peter with wide, wet eyes. “Is that what you want, sweet boy?” Peter asked him calmly, crossing one leg over the other and delicately folding his hands in his lap. “Do you need a dozen strangers to fuck you like a whore before you’re satisfied?”

Stiles gasped like it was a sob and shook his head furiously. Pleasure twisted over Peter’s lips as he watched the two scenes simultaneously - one pre-recorded, the other in live time. “No,” the secretary moaned, thrashing side to side uselessly, weak with pleasure as he failed to free his legs from the trap of the sheets. “No, no, no. Just - just you, sir. Only - only want you.”

Peter hummed as if he were unconvinced. “But how could I ever be enough for you?” he wondered aloud, gesturing to the screen. When Stiles didn’t turn to look, Peter swiftly reached down and grabbed his chin, turning his face. “Look at you,” he cooed, just as the first of what would be many cocks sank into Stiles in the video, and the close-up on the twenty-year-old’s face showed an ecstasy that would be nearly impossible to fake. “Look how much you love it,” Peter murmured, letting his fingers curl up over Stiles’ jaw and push into his panting mouth just as the video showed another man shuffle in front of the video counterpart’s face, dick fisted in his hand. “Look how much you love being such a perfect slut for all of those strangers.”

Peter’s Stiles keened high and began to lap at the tips of his fingers desperately; the Stiles in the video could no longer make any noise around the cock shoved down his throat.

“Is that what you want?” Peter asked his lover calmly, sinking his index fingers further into the wet heat of the mouth so that he could press down firmly against the straining, lapping tongue. “Would you like that? If I invited over a dozen men - men with thick, long cocks and names that you didn’t know? I’d let them fuck you until you couldn't breathe. You’d be blindfolded, of course. Tied up as well, nice and pretty. Just a perfect, perfect hole for us to come into. Is that what you want, sweet boy?”

Peter pulled his fingers away for him to answer and chuckled when Stiles’ whines took on a more plaintive note. “ _No_ ,” the young man cried. “No, no, no - _just you_. I just want _you_ \- please, _please_ , just - _fuck me_.”

Peter outright laughed and gave Stiles a condescending little pat on his hipbone. “Not yet,” he told him simply. His eyes glanced up at the screen. “Tell me, sweet boy - how many times have you come today? How many times did you get yourself off by watching yourself get fucked ruthlessly, over and over?”

Stiles didn’t answer right away. When he continued not answering Peter gave him a sharp swat on his ass through the sheets, just below the spot he’d patted before. Stiles’ breath hitched and a low whine was slowly let out from between his teeth. “I won’t ask again,” Peter warned him even as he ran a soothing hand over the place he’d hit. “How many times did you come?”

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and tilted his head slightly away from Peter, which didn’t bode well. “Three,” he admitted on a quiet whisper.

Peter slowly raised an eyebrow as he studied his lover’s prone form. “Only three?” he asked, making a show of looking down at his watch. “It’s nearly ten, baby, and I let you off at half past six. We both know that you can do so much better than that, sweet boy. What’s wrong?” He moved his hand to stroke down Stiles’ cheek. “Do you just not want me to fuck you? Is that it?”

Stiles went half-feral in a second, flailing around furiously and still desperately trying to escape the trap the blankets had made of his feet. He ended up falling face-first into Peter’s lap as a litany of denials sprinkled out of his mouth but he barely seemed to notice how close he’d gotten his mouth to Peter’s cock - albeit, through the barrier of clothes - before he was raising himself up on his elbows to pleadingly look up into Peter’s eyes. “No, sir,” he whimpered. “No, no - Mr. Hale, _please_ , please I - I couldn't get off without your cock, sir, that’s what was wrong.” A pitiful sound dripped from quivering lips and his eyes actually looked like they might well up with tears at any moment. “I kept thinking about your cock, sir, and, and, and the toys - they’re nothing to your cock, sir, and I _wanted_ \- I _wanted_ to be such a good boy for you and, and come as many times, but, but, I need your cock, sir, _please_.”

Peter very carefully reigned in the beast that was thrashing in delight in his chest at the very thought of Stiles finding legitimate difficulty in coming without him. His face he kept perfectly blank, as if that was no the most mouth-watering thing he had ever heard - had ever even considered in his life. He simply hummed as he would if he were reading over the description of a particularly interesting case at work.

“All I’m hearing is excuses, Mr. Stilinski,” he said with low, pitying sweetness, and Stiles shook his head with frantic mania, eyes growing wide in his pale face. “Excuse after excuse for why you couldn't finish your assignment even though I let you leave work early. Was my generosity not appreciated?”

Stiles’ eyes squeezed shut and he shook his head. “No, _no_ , sir, _no_ ,” he pleaded desperately.

Peter’s eyes flickered up to the screen. The first man had finished himself in Stiles’ ass and another was taking his place. “Show me your work so far then,” he said absently, now unable to look away from the close-up of a thick black cock pushing its way into Stiles’ leaking little hole even though he’d seen the video a hundred times. “I at least hope for your sake that you’ve gotten started.”

Stiles turned so quickly and so eagerly that he fell onto his side before he quickly scrambled back into action. A little struggle, a few hard yanks, and the sound of thousand-count thread sheets ripping somewhere and he was finally free. The fabric slid off of his gorgeous, mole-covered skin and Peter was, at long last, granted the vision that he’d been dreaming of since the ride home.

Stiles’ ass was a work of art. And not any art - craftsmanship worthy of Bernini or even Michelangelo himself. Two round, pale globes that were the fattiest part of his otherwise lithe and wiry form, framing his aforementioned perfect hole.

Stiles knew how to give a proper presentation, so he was quick to shuffle into a position that left his face pressed down into the mattress and his ass high up for Peter’s inspection. Two long-fingered hands quickly reached back and pulled apart his cheeks.

Peter tutted in consideration as he studied the dildo that Stiles had chosen to masturbate with that day. It is one of their more flesh-realistic pieces, even if the size isn’t. It’s large; above-average length and inhuman in width.

Peter was large. He had never doubted this fact about himself. But he would admit that his largest came across more prominently in length than in width. And clearly, even if Stiles didn’t consciously realize it, it was the stretch that he was trying to achieve that night.

So, like the good lover that he was, Peter wasted no time before pushing his finger in-between the toy and Stiles’ rim.

The young man screamed - only partly at the stretch because he was used to taking greater and mostly at the surprise of the action - and Peter laughed heartily, pulling the now lube-wet finger out and wiping it on the sheets. He crawled forward so that he was leaning over top of Stiles, his clothed chest pressed to his secretary’s naked back, and sucked a beautiful hickey onto the top of his shoulder - easily hidden under work clothes - before whispering huskily into the shell of Stiles’ ear, “I’ll fuck you, sweet boy. I’ll fuck you so well. But you have to do something for me before then, all right? I need you to come again. Just once more - and then I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll come again. Can you do that for me, sweet boy?”

“Yes,” Stiles breathed, and Peter captured his lips in a brief but deep kiss before abruptly pulling back.

He shed his jacket quickly, tossing it onto the floor somewhere and not caring that it was fitted or ridiculously expensive, and then unknotted his tie. “Do you want to be blindfolded or gagged, my sweet boy?” Peter asked Stiles as the silk of the material ran over his calloused palms. “I’ll let you have the choice.”

“Blinded,” Stiles murmured reverently, eyes already falling shut.

Peter’s smile was a little too genuine for the debauchery of the moment, his gentleness a little out of place as he carefully wound the soft fabric around his lover’s head, completely hiding his beautiful eyes from the scene. Peter pressed another soft kiss to pliant lips as he knotted it behind Stiles’ head. “I’ll keep you like this someday,” he promised quietly. “Strap you to a bench so tightly that you couldn't move, perfectly stretched out for me. Blinded, so you wouldn't know when I was coming. I’d slide right into your slack hole whenever I wanted and you’d be so good and you’d let me. Make a video of that, too - but just for us. Not for anyone else.”

Peter continued with the dirty talk as he swiftly disrobed. He hesitated over his belt - Stiles had done nothing to warrant a spanking with it that night, but a belt in the bedroom could have a thousand uses. He made up his mind and quickly grabbed Stiles’ hands, pulling them away from the grip he’d managed to maintain holding his cheeks wide open. “You know the rules, sweet boy,” he murmured as he quickly bound his wrists together in the small of his back, earning a squeak of surprise from Stiles. “You don’t get to touch your pretty little cock to make yourself come. You know that, don't you, Stiles? You’d never touch what isn't yours?”

“No!” Stiles protested immediately, rocking a little on his knees now that he had even less balance. “I didn’t, I didn’t, I promise!”

“Just to be sure, then,” Peter decided, tightening the belt just enough so that it would pinch but wouldn't cut off any circulation.

His pants, socks, and boxers came off quickly and then they were both beautifully naked, bathed in the glow of Stiles’ getting fucked and the distant sparkling lights of the city. “You’re perfect,” he told him, and followed up the statement by thrusting this time two fingers in around the semi-malleable base of the dildo.

Stiles screeched and Peter laughed when it was perfectly in-cue with his onscreen counterpart. Stiles’ fingers curled and spasmed in their bindings as his mouth dropped open in a silent wail. Peter mimicked the franticness of his movements pushing his fingers in as far as he could. The plastic plug provided a not particularly comfortable pressure against his awkwardly bent phalanges, but the noises Stiles made as he wiggled his fingers over slick, smooth skin was far beyond worth it.

Carefully, Peter began to curl and uncurl his fingers, stroking Stiles from the inside. The young man moaned as if angels had come down from heaven to grace him with a death from pleasure, and Peter couldn't help the way his chest puffed up just slightly in pride.

“I’m so glad you chose the blindfold, sweet boy,” Peter cooed, leaning down to gently murmur into Stiles’ ear even as he continued his assault on the most intimate part of the younger’s anatomy. “It would be practically sin to even so much as muffle your noises.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Your directors knew that too, didn’t they?” he asked, and Stiles made a punched-out noise like he’d been hit in the gut. “For such a beautiful star and such a variety of films, you were so rarely gagged, you know,” Peter continued, mimicking the movement of the fingers inside of Stiles by gently trailing his left hand up and down Stiles ass. “Because you make such pretty, pretty sounds. When I’m stretching you,” he purred, wiggling his fingers and earning a high whine, “when I’m _fucking_ you,” he gave a cruel tug on Stiles’ rim and the boy let out a warbled groan, “but especially when you _come_.”

Peter suddenly thrust his fingers in as deeply as he could manage, easily finding the other’s prostate after probably hundreds of sexual encounters, and launched a swift and unrelenting attack against the swollen, over-sensitized bundle of nerves hidden away so deeply.

Stiles screamed as he came.

Peter smirked and quickly pulled his fingers out of the erratically clenching and spasming hole as he leaned back to survey his work.

The room was still dark except for the colors from the TV, and Stiles still looked beautiful as he shook and shuddered under the glow of the screen, utterly destroyed by his fourth orgasm of the night.

Peter stroked his hands down the slim waist, let his fingers trace over constellations of moles, pressed gentle kisses to his neck and check, and slowly let Stiles regain his sensibilities.

“How was that, sweet boy?” Peter asked him when Stiles took one last shuddering breath before sinking into a more controlled rhythm.

Stiles hummed in pleasure, ass pushing into the light hold of Peter’s curved fingers. “Perfect,” he assured, and then wiggled his backside a little, a smirk crawling over plump lips. “I feel like I remember you promising to fuck me until I come again, though. When’s that going to happen, sir?”

Peter huffed at the boy’s uppityness. “Soon enough, brat,” he assured, squeezing Stiles’ ass in warning. “I want you coherent for this.” Stiles grinned tiredly. Peter couldn't resist kissing the smile. “Tell me what you want,” he murmured against his boy’s lips. “Tell me how you want it. How do you want to be fucked?”

The porno was over now, the sound of recorded sex fading out rather abruptly and leaving Stiles and Peter alone in current time - which was nice. Stiles hummed, shifting a little under Peter as he considered his position. “Blindfold off,” he finally decided, and Peter quickly acquiesced, reaching up to slide the silk off of his eyes. Stiles blinked a few times but it wasn’t hard to readjust in the dim lighting, and then smiled at Peter, whiskey brown eyes warm and happy. “And your belt,” he continued, nudging at Peter’s stomach with his bound hands. “I want you to fuck me on my back,” Stiles told him when Peter leaned back to remove the bindings. “I wanna look at you when you fuck me, and I want you to see me come again, sir, just from your cock.”

Peter bit back a coo, tried to keep some semblance of their play still intact even as his heart swelled at Stiles’ almost shy expression. He covered his own emotions by capturing his secretary in a filthy kiss, practically mauling his lover’s mouth even though Peter was met in return with exhausted and lazy moves. Peter’s hand worked deftly between them to remove the belt, flinging it to the side without care.

He didn’t break the kiss when he removed the dildo; Stiles’ gasped hot and not-quite-pained breath into his mouth.

Peter slid in a moment later.

The fucking was not gentle or tame, but there was still something underlyingly sweet about it. The way Stiles’ nails dug into Peter’s back but didn’t claw bloody trails. The way Peter pressed his body down so firmly that all their available skin was touching. The kiss that they never bothered breaking.

It was, of course, outweighed in parts by their depravity. Stiles’ hole was worn out, stretched for a much bigger insertion than Peter was giving him, and combined with obscene amounts of lube, the wet, sloppy noises of their fucking were prominent. Aided by the slimy mess of come left of Stiles’ stomach.

But this was the finale, and so it was almost sweet.

Peter, on the worse side of forty, had enough control over himself that he waited until Stiles was whimpering and squirming and finally went boneless after his fifth orgasm to quickly release inside his younger lover.

Clean-up was a quick, non-sexual affair - it had to be, with Stiles’ body so oversensitive. The boy was practically asleep by the time Peter crawled back into their bed, naked as Stiles was, and curled around him.

“I love you,” Stiles mumbled through a yawn.

Peter smiled to himself and pressed a firm kiss to the crown of his boy’s head. “You’re perfect,” he repeated and felt Stiles smile against his chest.


End file.
